


New York Blooms

by EntreNous



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel
Genre: Chance Meetings, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, One Night Stands, Strangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-20
Updated: 2006-02-20
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EntreNous/pseuds/EntreNous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight Buffy is Joan, and Connor is Steven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New York Blooms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [picfor1000](http://picfor1000.livejournal.com/) community/challenge.

She’s in Manhattan, in a bar in the East Village. There’s pink in her drink and a sprig of rosemary for a swizzle, so that makes her both girly and brave.

The address she got that afternoon from the funky salesgirl led to a place with no sign.

Inside it’s a dressed up dive with twelve dollar cocktails. But it doesn’t take even one to make the crowd good looking, and it’s not long before someone else is paying anyway.

“I’m way too old for you,” she tells him, taking a sip from the martini glass. She never spills a drop.

“I don’t know about that,” he says with a grin. He’s sandy haired, blue eyed, reminds her a little of Xander with his gestures, of Riley with his smile. The hints of familiar are comforting in the middle of a city that’s still strange to her, even after she’s gotten to know it on some ten or twelve trips for the Council.

“Way too old,” she confirms as she places her glass back on the napkin on the wood counter. His beer sweats alongside it. He’s a grad student at NYU, something to do with history. She’s pretty sure battles and destruction were mentioned when she asked him about his M.A. thesis.

“Come on, Joan,” he says in a half amused, half exasperated voice. She blinks and remembers. Right. Joan. That’s her bar name, her drunk-name.

She’d thought of Miranda at first, but it hadn’t fit when she tried it out. She needed something she could remember. Plus Willow snickered at her when she mentioned it at a lounge in Rio. “Brave New Buffy,” Willow said with a weird laugh, sloshing her with a vodka tonic as she leaned too close.

Willow spilled her drinks all the time.

She considers, smiling at him, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes travel over her. She’s got on her cream leather jeans. The leather’s best in Italy, the cuts are the most fashionable. She likes that she can say this with assurance and a toss of her hair when he asks about her outfit. Sure, the way his gaze is drawn to her ass makes her raise her eyebrows, but she pivots a little on the seat to give him a better view just the same.

Two more drinks, and she’s reaching up to stroke the hair out of his eyes. He’s safe looking, not that she needs to worry about that part. But he’s pretty and maybe a little girly himself, wide eyed, floppy haired, probably smooth skinned on his chest and legs.

And suddenly that image makes her want him more. He’s the opposite of Spike’s swaggering, completely unlike Angel’s solid presence.

Weird that he reminds her of both of them just the same.

She thinks maybe it’s the way that sometimes as he turns on the stool or waves a hand as he speaks the gawky, hunched shoulder thing disappears. His body gets drawn taut, his fingers become purposeful and ready to grab or throw, and his clear eyes sharpen.

She knows a fighter when she sees one.

Pretty fighter. Third drink later. She almost says it out loud when she puts her hand on his arm and feels the tight sinews. Maybe she should ask him about it. But then she’d have to tell him about her. And it’s not her tonight. It’s Joan.

Then they’re kissing, his hand on her thigh and her palm on his chest. She can tell even more now that his hair is baby fine and silky. It’s not a surprise that his lips are soft and pliant, but his kisses get harder and needier than she would have guessed. His leg is between hers, and she sighs into his mouth.

The sound of cabs and smokers making conversation on the sidewalk comes in waves whenever the door opens and closes.

They part, and he licks his lips, takes a deep breath. He’s wearing some of her shimmery lip gloss, and she finds she wants to lick his lips too. “Hey,” he begins.

“Hey,” she says, chin tipped down so she’s looking up into his eyes, even though he’s definitely not as tall as most of the guys she’s been with.

“Hey,” he starts again and smiles. “I was wondering; do you want to maybe get out of here? Go back to my place?” he asks. His voice cracks just a little on the “my,” but she decides not to notice.

There’s a drop of liquid left in her glass. She dips her fingertip in, brings it back wet to her mouth and slides it inside as though it’s helping her think. “Your place, hmmm. What are you, living in some cramped two bedroom with three other guys on the edge of Chinatown?” she asks.

His cheeks color. “Kind of. It’s a one bedroom with a divider in the middle. Sort of a folding screen deal.”

She looks skeptical just for a moment, and he rushes on. “But it’s not three other guys. I only have one roommate. And you don’t have to worry, because he’s definitely not going to be home tonight.”

She grins and shakes her head. “My hotel room will be way better. And bonus, room service.”

His lips part a little when she slides off the stool. She eases her trendy SoHo purchased half jacket on before she realizes that even though he asked, he didn’t think she would actually leave with him. She’s not sure how he’s confident enough to risk the question and self-conscious enough to doubt the answer. But it’s a find in this city, even more than the pretty strappy heels she bought today.

By the time he’s standing, she’s half turned away from him and ready to walk. When she speaks again it’s over her shoulder. “Well, how about it, Steven? You coming or not?”

“Definitely,” he says, hasty as he slaps bills on the counter and follows her out.


End file.
